I guess this is what authors write about.
His features were drawn with engineer-like precision
And I can only make out the lines from a distance,
With stares and a book that hides his gaze,
Occasionally peering up to steal glances of his own.
Why doesn't he speak to me though his glare lingers?
I wonder about the secrets hidden behind the words he chooses to give attention to.
Am I like a painting in a museum he is just admiring?
He no longer undresses the words he is married to,
As I am his mistress of sight.
Maybe one day he'll read me.
YOU ARE READING
An Ode to Muses to Polyhymnia
PoetryThis poetry collection explores loneliness, theology, Biblical characters, depression, heartbreak, and disappointment. It's a good read for someone going through a bad time, but surprisingly hopeful.
